BITING OFF MORE . . .

Rather a humiliating visit to the dentist. Up till now had felt tooth grinding, which I know I do when stressed, was something best kept between me and myself. This view endorsed when passing unexpected mirror and realizing that when doing it I look like nothing so much as Les Dawson gurning – not a good look.

Dentist however having done the lowering of the back of the chair thing to the point where you’re worried you’re going to slide backwards onto the floor – or is that just me? Dons the mask and informs me I’ve been grinding so hard I’ve worn away lots of surface enamel, not to mention, he adds, gloomily some of the surrounding bone area. Am I, he asks, stressed? Well if I wasn’t before, I certainly am now. Would point this out if didn’t have my mouth full of that vicious little hose thing that likes to catch your tongue.

A tooth guard apparently is the answer. Now I have a problem in that for some reason always feel an obligation to entertain sundry members of the medical profession with light banter and chat – probably a subconscious urge to distract them from whatever they’re going to do to me. Am working hard on suppressing this unfortunate tendency although when dentist sits me up and says he’s going to do a couple of impressions, mouth mutters ‘Tommy Cooper?’ before brain has a chance to stop it. I duly bite hard into blue pack of Playdoh type substance which whilst not at all comfortable at least has the silver cloud lining of not allowing me to say anything for a while.

Straighten myself up, dust myself down and trot off for meeting with a new client, followed by a networking lunch at which I’m speaking. Not until I get home do I realize have gone the whole day with a piece of bright blue plasticy stuff fetchingly wedged between my two front teeth.